


The Right Medication

by romanticalgirl



Category: Southland
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted 7-16-09</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Right Medication

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 7-16-09

Ben's sprawled out on the bed, face down and spread-eagled. John watches him from the doorway, his hip cocked against the frame and one arm across his chest as the other lifts his beer to his mouth. Ben's naked, which John approves of, even though he knows he should go back out to the couch and stop watching Ben. He's here as babysitter, not as anything else, and he knows it, isn't about to step over that boundary. Sherman's on pain meds and exhaustion, burnt out from too much work, too much stress and too many fucking idiots in the greater Los Angeles area. Of course, getting himself hit by a car probably didn't help.

"What am I gonna do with you, Sherman?"

Ben makes a sound, a moan, and his body shifts on the bed. John's spent enough time dry humping his hand and against the mattress to recognize the move and now he really needs to get the fuck out of here. He's a firm believer in the privacy of someone's mind and fantasies, given that he spent too many years of his marriage jerking off in private, replacing Laura in his bed with nameless, faceless men.

Instead, John finds himself walking forward. There are dark bruises on Ben's skin and John very carefully reaches out, ghosting his hand over them without touching. Touching Ben would be a very bad thing. Touching Ben wouldn't stop at tracing the bruises. Touching Ben would lead to kissing Ben, to sucking Ben, to fucking Ben and John doesn't screw his partners. John knows that screwing someone just gives them a reason to screw you over and John needs someone watching his back, not sinking a knife into it.

Ben moans again, his back arching slightly as he grinds down against the mattress. His hips roll in slow circles and John has to swallow hard and shove his free hand in his pocket to keep it still, the other closing tight around his beer bottle. "You okay, Ben?" He could be in pain. John clings to that fragile excuse as he sets the beer down and moves his hand up and touches Ben's shoulder. "Ben?"

A hard shudder wracks Ben's body and he whimpers softly. He's thrusting and writhing against the mattress and, whatever he's thinking, John wants that feeling bad. It's like desperation, like those forbidden things coming to the surface because Ben's too far out of it to hold them back. John doesn't pull his hand away and Ben turns his head, mouth nuzzling at John's fingers.

John groans and knows he needs to get the fuck out of the room, that this is the equivalent of taking advantage. He jerks his hand away and takes a step back as Ben's mouth opens, searching hungrily. John's cock is a heavy weight between his legs and he needs to get out of here now. Call Chickie and put her on Sherman watch. But he's seen the way Chickie looks at Ben sometimes, and he's not sure he trusts anyone but himself with Sherman stretched out like this, fanned out like he's asking to get a tongue shoved up his ass.

"John?" Ben's voice is soft and confused, but he's smiling. "Hey."

"Hey, Robocop. You think maybe next time you can remember that a fucking Buick is not going to be stopped by your pathetic puny ass?"

"I have a nice ass." Sing-song, fueled by the pain killers. "You think so too."

"I don't think about your ass." John's pretty sure his protest is about as believable as OJ Simpson's, but it's the most he can offer. He knows he's in deep ship when a fucking rookie gets the drop on him.

Ben closes his eyes again, still smiling. "Liar."


End file.
